“’Deed, mem, I can an’ wull promise ye naething!” he said. “Are ye to play a man fause ’cause he’s less able to tak care o’ himsel’ than ither fowk? Gien I war sure ’at ye cud mak it up, an’ ’at he would be happy wi’ ye efterhin, it micht be anither thing; but excep’ ye garred him, ye cudna get him to bide lang eneuch for ye to try--an’ syne (_even then_) he wad dee afore ye hed convenced him. I doobt, mem, ye hae lost yer chance wi’ him and maun du yer best to be content withoot him--I’ll promise ye this muckle, gien ye like--I s’ tell him what ye hae said upo’ the subjec’.” “Much good that will be!” replied the lady, with ill-concealed scorn. “Ye think he wadna unnerstan’ ’t; but he unnerstan’s wonnerfu’.” “And you would come again, and tell me what he said?” she murmured, with the eager persuasiveness of reviving hope. “Maybe ay, maybe no--I winna promise.--Hae ye ony answer to sen’ back to my lord’s letter, mem?” “No; I cannot write; I cannot even think. You have made me so miserable!” Malcolm lingered. “Go, go;” said the lady dejectedly. “Tell your master I am not well. I will write to-morrow. If you hear anything of my poor boy, do take pity upon me and come and tell me.” The stiffer partizan Malcolm appeared, the more desirable did it seem in Mrs Stewart’s eyes to gain him over to her side. Leaving his probable active hostility out of the question, she saw plainly enough that, if he were called on to give testimony as to the laird’s capacity, his witness would pull strongly against her plans; while, if the interests of such a youth were wrapped up in them, that fact in itself would prejudice most people in favour of them. CHAPTER XXXVI. THE BLOW. “Well, Malcolm,” said his lordship, when the youth reported himself, “how’s Mrs Stewart?” “No ower weel pleased, my lord,” answered Malcolm. “What!--you haven’t been refusing to----?” “Deed hev I, my lord!” “Tut! tut!--Have you brought me any message from her?” He spoke rather angrily. “Nane but that she wasna weel, an’ wad write the morn.” The marquis thought for a few moments. “If I make a personal matter of it, MacPhail----I mean--you won’t refuse me if I ask a personal favour of you?” “I maun ken what it is afore I say onything, my lord.” “You may trust me not to require anything you couldn’t undertake.” “There micht be twa opingons, my lord.” “You young boor! What is the world coming to? By Jove!” “As far ’s I can gang wi’ a clean conscience, I’ll gang,--no ae step ayont,” said Malcolm. “You mean to say your judgment is a safer guide than mine?” “No, my lord; I micht weel follow yer lordship’s jeedgment, but gien there be a conscience i’ the affair, it’s my ain conscience I’m bun’ to follow, an’ no yer lordship’s, or ony ither man’s. Suppose the thing ’at seemed richt to yer lordship, seemed wrang to me, what wad ye hae me du than?” “Do as I told you, and lay the blame on me.”